


I Wanna Be Yours

by Benaddicted_Sherlockian



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greaserlock, M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:17:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1551821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benaddicted_Sherlockian/pseuds/Benaddicted_Sherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There he was. Sherlock Holmes sat alone. John could feel his heart racing, he was going to do it, he had too. No backing out now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Wanna Be Yours

John loved History. Well, he actually couldn't care less about history. Blood, guts, gore and monarchs weren't really his thing. It was the seating plan he loved, it meant he had a clear view of Sherlock, Sherlock’s back to be precise. John found it weird how none of the girls were drooling over the schools greaser after all what was not to love about leather jackets, sunglasses, gelled up hair, the smell of petrol and cigarettes? It was like Sherlock was stuck in the 1950’s. All the other boys wore chinos, tracksuit bottoms, football shirts or hoodies. During Mr Hasworth’s horrifically boring lessons John would just stare at Sherlock and daydream to the point where Mr Hasworth’s voice became muffled sounds. Only when another student spoke or silence fell would John snap out of his fantasies. This had become an issue. All these other students actually putting effort into their classes were disturbing John. It wasn't long until he found a solution to said problem. Music. He would slip an earbud into his ear and drift away to daydream-land. John had come to the conclusion that the best kind of songs to play were by Arctic monkeys. Some lines just fit Sherlock like a glove.

_And oh I’m so tense, never tenser_  
 _Could all go a bit Frank Spencer_  
 _And I’m talking gibberish,_  
 _Tip of the tongue but cant deliver it._

See, John had always tried to make a move. Start a conversation with the boy that never spoke to anyone. John had tried approaching him to ask “Did you do the homework?” or “What time is it?” You know, all the typical icebreakers but he'd get within one metre of Sherlock and freak out thinking he’ll make a fool out of himself or get tongue tied or something stupid because that would be a very John thing to do.

_Well, now then Mardy Bum_  
 _Oh I’m in trouble again, aren't I?_  
 _I thought as much._  
 _‘Cause you turned over there_  
 _Pulling that silent disappointment face_  
 _The one that I cant bear_

Another reason John struggled talking to Sherlock was because he had one of those ‘resting bitch faces’ and Sherlocks ‘bitch face’ was the queen of all, especially with his cheekbones making his frown look particularly pissed off. His gloriously coloured eyes would scowl and John would be far to scared to step any closer let alone talk to him.

_I wish you'd stop ignoring me because it's sending me to despair,_  
 _Without a sound yeah you're calling me and I don't think its very fair._

After trying and failing to talk to Sherlock John decided the next course of action was to make eye contact with him whenever he'd walk past, if he were asked to hand out work to the students he’d give Sherlock his first, he'd only let Sherlock go ahead of him in the lunch queue, he'd let Sherlock do all the experiments in science class. So many little hints that John wanted to befriend him and hey, lets face it more than that but still Sherlock never bat an eyelid and this really was sending John to despair.

_And do you still think love is a laserquest_  
 _Or do you take it all more seriously?_  
 _I've tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I've had_  
 _But you're always busy being make believe_

There was this one girl Sherlock went out with a few months back but it only lasted half a day. Rumours say she said went out with him because of his looks even though Sherlock didn't even know the girl. After finding out about this Sherlock took matters into his own hands. During lunch when the cafeteria was mobbed with ravenous teenagers Sherlock stood on the table and pointed to the girl he was supposedly going out with and shouted out to everyone that she was desperate for attention and was actually gay so she said she was going out with him to hide that fact. Everyone remembers this day, Sherlock was sent home and the girl transferred schools. John wondered how Sherlock knew the girl wasn't straight… did that mean he knew John wasn't either? If he did know and decided to blurt it out to everyone John wouldn't just transfer schools, he'd probably go to live in a quiet town the other side of the world away from all humanity.

_I wanna be in that damsel patterned alley_  
 _Where you go for a smoke_

Sherlock had an alley. It wasn't his but he basically owned it. He smoked there for a good 10 minutes at 3:45 exactly, not that John knew that or anything… In Johns daydreams accidently-on-purpose bumping into Sherlock at his alley often occurred.

_Leather jacket, collar popped like antenna_  
 _Never knowing when to stop_

Sherlock was a greaser, no debate. He wore a white shirt, black leather jacket with the collar up, aviator sunglasses, black skinny jeans sometimes denim, black shoes either converse or doctor martens, hair gelled into the ducktail style but if it were raining or Sherlock hadn't had time to comb his treacle black hair he’d leave it in its natural state which was curly. Curly to the point where John would have to sit on his hands to stop him from running his fingers through it. He drove a black ford cortina, like in ‘I wanna be yours’ which was Johns personal favourite song to listen to while fantasising. He smoked whenever he could and it wouldn't be surprising if he’d managed to persuade a tattoo artist into giving him a skull or rose tattoo despite being only 16. All this about Sherlock was what John had the luxury of looking at during history.

_I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be_  
 _And satisfaction feels like a distant memory_  
 _And I can't help myself,_  
 _All I wanna hear ~~her~~_ _him say is "Are you mine? "_

_~_

_I guess what I'm trying to say is I need the deep end_  
 _Keep imagining meeting, wished away entire lifetimes_  
 _Unfair we're not somewhere misbehaving for days_

John really did feel he was going crazy, and stuck in school really wasn't where he wanted to be. The last time he’d been in a relationship? Last year, some girl in his class asked him out. No one had ever shown interest in him before so, out of flattery, he said ‘yes’. For the following week he had regretted ever saying that. She was boring, clingy and would. Not. Stop. Talking. He dumped her as best he could before she could celebrate their ‘8th day anniversary’.  
Sherlock was nothing like her in John’s head. Sherlock was rebellious but sweet, cold hearted to everyone else but like a puppy to his master for John, sick of everyone’s voices and stupid ideas but would sit and listen to John eagerly whenever he spoke. They would nick sweets from the pic ’n’ mix stalls and prank call the girls in their year that would tweet their phone numbers to celebrities. John playing the part of Justin Bieber and Sherlock playing Niall, he has a surprisingly good irish accent.

_I don't know if you feel the same as I do_  
 _But we could be together if you wanted to_

“JOHN!” Mr Hasworth shouted over Alex Turner’s smooth lyrics.  
“Yes sir?”  
“Answer my question please.” John felt his cheeks boil until they were the colour of a strawberry lace. What was the last thing they were learning about?  
“Joan of Arc, Sir,” He eventually spat out, hoping to god they were still studying the Siege of Orléans.  
“Last time I checked Joan of Arc wasn't an Egyptian god, Please pay attention John. I don’t get paid for talking to myself.” Johns sunk his head as he snuck his iPod back in his pocket. The sooner this lesson was over the better. The only downside was that he had Religious studies next and he was seated in front of Sherlock that lesson.


	2. The Lion's Mane

Mike Stamford was probably John’s only friend in this dump of a school so naturally he would meet Mike at the bench by the lifts after every lesson. Mike would usually talk about one of the many girls he was definitely going to make a move on within the next week or so, he never stuck to his words.  
“You know, sometimes you've just got to go for it. You never know when, or even if you're going to see them again so every chance you get you should take it because it could be your last.” He says. These words get to John every time Mike says them.

_I'm not like you and I don't want your advice or your praise or to move in_  
 _The ways you do, and I never will._

People these days always complained about how complicated relationships were and how they couldn’t pick up the courage to ask out whoever they were after. These people didn't know the half of it. If only John could have it that easy. Fancying Sherlock was like trying to break a nokia 3310; impossible and just a stupid idea that would only end up in you getting hurt.  
“What about you John? There must be someone you've got your eye on.”  
“Not really, Mike.”  
“Well, I’m telling you if you do then you'd better step up your game. We ‘avent got long left here and after graduation everyone’s going to be busy at a Uni or full time jobs to be in a relationship so get your act together before its too late.” Mikes words rung through John’s head all through Religious studies. Sherlock sat alone in geography, this was perfect.

The Plan:

  * Move next to Sherlock
  * Start a conversation
  * Don't make a fool of your self



Simple and straight forward. John was not going to mess up.

_And it seems as though those lumps in your throat_  
 _That you just swallowed have got you going_  
 _Come on, come on, come on_  
 _Come on, come on, come on_

There he was. Sherlock Holmes sat alone. John could feel his heart racing, he was going to do it, he had too. No backing out now. But what if Sherlock didn't want him there? What if John got tongue tied again and made himself look like a complete idiot? What if Sherlock didn't like him? What if everything hit the fan? John swallowed all the ‘What ifs’ that came to his head as he slowly walked over to the seat beside the greaser, clutching his bag for safety as if here were approaching a dragon.  
“C- Can I sit here?” John cleared his throat, feeling the blood rush to his head as Sherlocks almost psychedelic eyes looked straight at him.  
“Why?” The deep voice make Johns sent a shiver down Johns spine.  
“I didn't mean to bother you, its just I don’t really want to sit over there,” The words came out of Johns mouth like in a tangled mess, he just wanted the ground to swallow him up.  
“You’re weird. No one in their right mind would chose to sit here, next to me, than over there,” Sherlock nodded towards the girls that were blabbing on about ‘How cool it would be if you mixed the red sea and the white sea to make the pink sea, or the black sea and the the white sea to make the grey sea’  
“I’ll go if you want me too,” John turned to walk over to the table of blabber-ers who were now listening to one of the girls dramatic events where she accidentally sent a friend request to that guy she was stalking on Facebook.  
“Sit,” Sherlock said, pulling back a chair.

_Never again, never again, oh, will there be another one quite as desirable as you_

_One look sends it coursing through the veins oh how the feeling races_  
 _Back up to their brains to form expressions on their stupid faces_

John sat beside him, this was the closest he’d ever been. The smell of petrol, smoke and expensive hair gel filled his lungs. A relieved yet pleased smile formed on Johns face that felt like it was boiling up.  
“Tedious, isn't it?” Sherlock whispered to John as the teacher wrote ‘Discuss how the varying amounts of rainfall over the South African interior in summer and winter will impact on farming activities there’ on the board. John hummed in agreement. “Meet me at the lions mane tonight then. You're not busy, right? I’ll be outside, 10pm”  
Oh. God.

_Do me a favour, break my nose!_  
 _Do me a favour, tell me to go away!_  
 _Do me a favour, stop asking questions!_

This had escalated a lot more than planned. Sherlock was asking John to meet him outside a club on friday night, he could barely talk to the boy let alone be with him outside of school.  
“Ok,” the reply came out high pitched and quiet, John was really freaking out. Small problem, he doesn't drink or dance. What the hell was he supposed to do at a club when all he can do is make a good cup of tea and dress a wound properly?  
Before John could sink any further into his chair he realised Sherlock was typing his number into Johns phone.  
“I suspect you'll be needing this,” Sherlock handed the phone over. His contact lists consisted of his parents, Harry, Mike and now Sherlock who's profile picture was him pulling what looked like the ‘Blue steel’. That boy was so smooth he made even James Bond look as smooth as sandpaper.

_Some want to kiss, some want to kick you_  
 _There's not a net you couldn't slip through_  
 _Or at least that's the impression I get_  
 _Cause you're smooth and you're wet_

The Lion’s Mane. 10 o’Clock. Tonight. So, John had gone in hoping to talk to Sherlock and had come out with his number along with a meeting place and time. This could go one of two ways.


	3. Dancing Shoes

John was sat at the end of his bed, twiddling his thumbs. It was 9:35pm, he had been ready to leave for an hour already. Every time the minutes got closer to 10 o’clock John’s heart skipped a beat, every second felt like a lifetime. To try and pass the time he got out his phone to play a game of snakes or something but he just ended up staring at the profile picture Sherlock had taken.

_How I often wonder where you are_  
 _You have got that face that just says_  
 _"Baby, I was made to break your heart”_

His cheekbones deep, eyes bright, hair perfect and lips pale. John looked back into his mirror, he was wearing his best pair of SeaVees, jeans, blue gingham shirt and a weekend jacket. This was John’s fifth outfit choice and he had come to the conclusion that this was the most Im-going-clubbing-with-someone-I’m-sublty-trying-to-impress looking outfit, not that he knew what people who went clubbing would usually wear.  
The clock turned to 9:40pm. 5 minutes and John’s sister was going to drop him off down the road from the club. His stomach turned at the thought of everything that could go wrong, was it too late to back out? No; no going back. The clock changed.  
 **9:41**  
 **9:42**  
 **9:43**  
 **9:44**  
 **9:45**  
Harry knocked on John’s door.  
“Come on then, before I leave without you,” She called from behind the door.

_In a foreign place,_  
 _the saving grace was the feeling_  
 _And that it was a heart that he was stealing_  
 _Oh he was ready to impress_  
 _and fierce excitement_

“Thank-you,” John yelled before slamming the car door and almost ran down the street towards the Lion’s Mane. 9:58pm, two minutes. The thumping music coming from the club beat in time to John’s pulse that currently felt like it was throbbing through his head. The town clock chimed 10 o’clock. The sky was a deep cerulean blue, the night was cold and crisp. John’s breath cooled in the air as he let out the sigh of nerves that he felt he had been holding onto for an age. Just around the corner was the club, just around the corner was Sherlock. John looked back up the road he had just sped-walked down thinking about leaving before anything went wrong. He shook his head and turned the corner…

_All the thoughts that I just said_  
 _Linger round and multiply in the head_  
 _Not that bad to start with_  
 _Im not angry, Im just disappointed_

Deserted. There wasn't a soul. Sherlock wasn't there, John stood alone and confused. This was a club… Aren’t there supposed to be people arguing, kissing or swaying full of alcohol somewhere? Sherlock said he’d be outside at 10pm, its was 10:03.  
‘He’s just late,’ John repeated in his head. John was the kind of person that always thought the worst. Was Sherlock dead? Did Sherlock set John up? Is Sherlock some place else with someone else? Is Sherlock laughing to himself thinking about how much of a fool John must be right now, alone in the cold?  
“John.”

_I’m in a vest_

John spun round to see Sherlock looming over him. Doctor Martens, black jeans, a Three Bad Jacks shirt with the sleeves cut off to expose his brawny arms and hair slicked back into the signature ducktail style.  
“You came!” John blushed as the words came out sounding more desperate than he intended.  
“Yes. That is usually what people do when they says they'll meet up somewhere,” Sherlock tugged John by the arm and entered the club.  
The entrance hallway was long and dimly lit, you could just make out the silhouettes of couples all over each other. The smell of alcohol, sweat and vomit invaded John’s nostrils, he pinched his nose and pulled a face of disgust as he almost tripped over the legs of a drunken man on the floor. Sherlock pushed open the double doors and entered the room full of youths ‘dancing’, drinking and everything in between. Blue laser lights shone around the room, strobe lights flashed, smoke machines thickened the air and a Dj stood at the back behind the decks blasting 5/4 by Gorillaz out of the huge speakers placed in every corner of the room.  
“What do you drink? You look like a Guinness kind of person but I still can’t put my finger on it,” Sherlock asked, pulling notes out of his wallet.  
“I don’t drink,” John shouted over the top of the pounding music “I’m underage anyway.”  
“Wait, You don’t drink? I thought teenager did and since when did you worry about the age limit? No one really pays attention to them, you're weird,” He walked over to the bar and ordered two tequila and grapefruit cocktails. “Come on,” John took the light pink cocktail from the boys hand and stared at it. It smelt bitter and there was a lot of it, he couldn’t down it but he couldn’t drink it slowly. “Anytime,” Sherlock looked at John with a daring smirk.

_Stop and wait a sec,_  
 _Oh when you look at me like that my darling,_  
 _What did you expect,_  
 _I probably still adore you with your hands around my neck,_  
 _Or I did last time I checked_

That boy could get anything he wanted. John took a deep breath before lifting the cup to his lips and tilted it until the liquid slipped down his throat. Squeezing his eyes tight, John downed the glass and made a retching sound that made several people turn to make sure he hadn't died. Sherlock laughed as he patted John on the back “Easy tiger, don't get yourself drunk,” He downed the cocktail effortlessly before mumbling “Lightweight,” into John’s ear.  
A mischievous grin grew on the tall boys face as the Dj began playing a remix of ‘How To Be a Heartbreaker’ by Marina and the Diamonds, he almost skipped down the few stairs onto the dance floor before merging into the thick crowd of people. John slid into a seat by the bar and watched the mass of teens move to the thudding beat as the lights changed to purple and the smoke machine blasted out a fog. The alcohol that had been chugged into his system started to have its affect, John could feel the hyper giggles brewing in the pit of his stomach until they reached his head that felt light and as if it was slowly spinning, the laughter erupted when Sherlock started singing "I lo-lo-love you, At least I think I do!” and pointing in John’s direction at the base drop. This was going to be quite a night.


	4. Put Your Dukes Up, John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh, look at that chapter title. Arctic monkey reference that includes John's name....

Shot after shot after shot. Sherlocks tongue was a vivid blue after at least 4 of the tiny cups of artificially coloured drink. He had managed to get John to try a green one but the poor boy could only manage half.

_D is for Delightful_  
 _And try and keep your trousers on_  
 _I think you should know you're his favourite worst nightmare_  
 _D is for…_

Drunk, Sherlock was absolutely wasted. Swaying un-rhythmically to ‘Pseudologia Fantastica’ along with the rest of the people left at the club. It was coming up to the early hours of the morning and all the lightweights were beginning to leave, 4 hours in a cramped, noisy club was more than enough for some but Sherlock was still going strong.  
‘You've got to love the madness of the feeling  
Don't have to rush the freshness of beginning’  
The lyrics of the song that began to finish flowed through John’s head, all he could think about was the events at the beginning. Sherlock had sung a line of a love song to him, not to any of the desperate single girls that would have willingly took off with Sherlock, not to anyone who was utterly pissed and would've gone along with Sherlock no questions asked, he had sung it to John. The cocktail and half of a shot was making thinking clearly a challenge, it hadn't come to mind that Sherlock could've just been messing around, lightly tipsy or giddy. What happened at least two hours ago had been on Johns mind the whole time - excluding the time when he felt too drunk to think. Even though it was probably nothing John could've sworn Sherlock had flashed him a wink or two….

_They sneered and sniffed and spat at my chat up lines_  
 _Not to feel like a twat at times is hard_  
 _(But not for this kid, not when they come to you.)_

A group of three girls made their way onto the dance floor by Sherlock, John could feel jealously boil up inside him. They were the three girls from geography. The tall one with glasses and a fringe was head banging and jumping around in her patterned tights and skirt. The other slightly shorter, brown haired one in skinny jeans and a floaty top was laughing and trying to encourage the third girl, the darker and longer haired, shorter one to come onto the dance floor but she shook her head and sat at the table behind a blond haired boy who was resting his head on the shoulders of another brown haired boy, bottles and glasses lay spilt around them.  
‘Take Me Out’ by Franz Ferdinand played and everyone jumped with the beat, the club felt like it was shaking as the people inside landed in unison. Sherlock mouthed the words along with the floaty-topped girl until they burst into laughter when the fringed-girl had to stop head banging because she’d given herself a headache. Sherlock was left alone again as the two girls went to sit at the table with the long-haired girl. They all made eye contact, pulled faces as if they'd seen a basket of kittens and made high pitched squealing noises when the brown haired boy sleepily rested his head upon the blond boy who was leaning against him.  
John stared into space as he imagine what it would be like if the boys were replaced with himself and sherlock… either Sherlock would have to slouch a considerable amount or John would have to sit on his knees just to rest his head on Sherlocks shoulder. Height differences could be such a problem.

_I've been wondering whether later when you tell everybody to go,_  
 _Will you pour me one for the road?_

_The mixture hits you hard_  
 _Don't get that sinking feeling, don't fall apart_  
 _Some out of tune guitar_  
 _Soundtrack to disaster_

The last few seconds of ‘Song 2’, the creatively named Blur song, were warped until the Dj played the next song on the playlist. John felt his heart stop. He knew that tune, he knew those drum beats, He knew that distinctive voice. There was no way John was going to miss the opportunity to dance to ‘The View From The Afternoon’ in a club with Sherlock, he'd been sat at this bar seat for too long, The last half of the shot sat in the cup, John necked the green liquid and skipped down the steps. The crowd was thicker than he thought, legs, arms and sweaty bodies were dancing everywhere he turned. John was shorter than most people here so he couldn’t peer over the heads of people to try and spot Sherlock. Suddenly a hand grabbed John by the shoulder and whirled him round.  
“I thought you’d never join me,” Sherlock smiled.

_Anticipation has the habit to set you up_  
 _For disappointment in evening entertainment but_  
 _Tonight there'll be some love_  
 _Tonight there'll be a rawkus, regardless of what's gone before_

John didn't know how to dance… that thought never occurred when he ran onto the dance floor. He began head banging like the girl before but instantly regretted it, the alcohol alone was enough, let alone throwing his head about too. He tried jumping but that had the same affect.  
“You’re hopeless,” Sherlock laughed. He was different when he was filled with shots. Sherlock danced smoothly with rhythm, as if he had practiced.

_I bet that you look good on the dance floor I don't know if you're looking for romance or..._ _Don't know what you're looking for I said I bet that you look good on the dance floor_ _Dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984 Well, from 1984!_

John tried to follow his lead but he just got confused and ended up moving like a headless chicken.

_You can pour your heart out around 3 o clock_  
 _When the 2 for 1's undone the writers block_

The song ended a lot sooner than expected. John yawned and rubbed his eyes, he had never felt so much fatigue before.  
“Guess it’s time to take you home then?” Sherlock grinned.  
“But you can’t drive, you’ve drunk—“  
“Ugh, fiiine,” Sherlock moaned and took his phone out “I’ll call my brother once we get out,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this instead of doing maths revision.... no regrets.


	5. Stop the World, I Wanna Get Off With You

John followed Sherlock past the bar in into the corridor where a few drunken bodies lay, limbs akimbo. The tall boy leant against the wallpapered wall to steady himself, he was walking with a sway and spoke with a slight slur. John watched as Sherlock’s long, wan fingers scrolled through the contacts in his phone until he stopped mid scroll and tapped on the contact titled ‘Ice man’.  
“Hello dear brother,” Sherlock said.  
“Sherlock, its 3 in the morning,” ‘ _And I’m tryna change your mind_ ’ John sang in his head.  
“Mycroft, It’s either pick me up or I drive.” John chuckled to himself, Mycroft and Sherlock. What a duo.  
“Why don’t you just get a taxi?” John heard Mycroft sigh.  
“You know what happened last time I used public transport,” a lock of black hair fell over Sherlocks pale forehead as he smirked.  
“Just you wait until Mother hears that you snuck out again and got drunk,”  
“Get off your high horse, only because you’re the goody two-shoes,” The two argued through the phone for a good five minutes until Sherlock signed off with “I’ll see you in 15 minutes then, thankyoubye. Oh, and John’s with me.” Then he hung up before Mycroft could protest.

_We're felling silly, I'm feeling oh so sick_  
 _And I can't see you through the smoke because the clouds so thick_

Sherlock laughed to himself as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. John felt the alcohol swirl in his stomach and he could taste the sickly sweet syrups used in the shots. A face of determination formed on his face as he tried to keep everything down, the smoke from the machine seeped through the crack of the double doors, it floated up and spun around his head. John grabbed the wall with one hand and clutched his chest with the other, the drinks created a whirlpool in the pit of his stomach, slowly he could feel the liquid rise up his throat until he bent over and hurled the contents of his insides onto the carpeted floor. Sherlocks cold hand patted his back.  
“C’mon, lets go and get you cleaned up,” Sherlock wrapped his long arms around John and lead him to the men’s room.

_Well I know that getting you alone isn't easy to do_  
 _With the exception of you I dislike everyone in the room_  
 _And I don't wanna lie, but I don't wanna tell you the truth_  
 _Get the sense that you're on the move_  
 _And you'll probably be leaving soon, so I'm telling you_

_Stop the world 'cause I wanna, get off, with you_

Sherlock helped John up onto the worktop space next to the sinks.  
“You really are new to this, aren’t you,” He said, handing John a wet paper towel. John forgot about everything for a second, being sick made it feel like the alcohol was out of his system and thinking became a lot clearer. Sherlock was looking up to John with sympathetic eyes, god his eyes were like nothing you’d ever seen before, they were so easy to get lost in. What had happened the last few days suddenly dawned on him. He was in a club with Sherlock Holmes. He has Sherlock Holmes in his contacts. Sherlock Holmes was here, with him. Last Thursday John hadn't even spoken to Sherlock before. A wave of dizziness rolled over his head.  
“Y- yeah, I, I’m fine” John stuttered as he held the cool towel against his burning forehead.  
“Good, because Mycroft’s here.”  
“How do you know?” Johns question was interrupted by Sherlock’s phone beeping to notify a new text. He opened his phone and showed John the text.

**3:15**  
 **Here.**  
 **-M**

They walked back through the corridor and left the club. The night air was so much colder and crisp than the crowded, stuffy nightclub. Sherlock rubbed his hand against John’s arm as he shivered. A long, slick black car was waiting against the kerb.  
“Is that --?”  
“Yes, come on.”  
Sherlock opened the door to the back seats of the BMW and signalled for John to sit. All of a sudden John was very conscious of his dirty shoes, he slid in very slowly to make sure he made no scuffs or scratches. Sherlock closed the door and walked around the car to sit in the passenger seat.  
“Where to?” the man in the drivers seat asked. He was quite tall and fairy large, He wore a suit and a waistcoat with a red tie to compliment his red hair. There was a hand-full of umbrellas laid on the back seats beside John, Sherlock had thrown a dark, wooden handled umbrella off his seat to the floor and the man who John guessed was Mycroft gave Sherlock a glare as if to say ‘If it were just you and I here, you would be mince meat’  
John gave Mycroft his address and they drove off. There was a detour route John knew that would shave off a good 5 minutes from their drive but he didn't feel like telling Mycroft that.

_And I elongated my lift home,_  
 _Yeah I let him go the long way round_  
 _I smelt your scent on the seatbelt_  
 _And kept my shortcuts to myself_

They drove home in silence, apart from one or two of Sherlock’s drunken hiccups. The car silently pulled up outside the alley that lead to John’s house.  
“Thank-you,” John broke the peace awkwardly, he didn't want to try to open the car door, he felt he’d contaminate the pristine cream interior.  
“I’ll walk you back,” Sherlock stumbled out of the vehicle and opened John’s door, he climbed out and the door slammed behind him.  
“Don’t do anything stupid ,Sherlock,” Mycroft mumbled from behind the window.  
“I won’t,” Sherlock mumbled back as they walked up the alley “….but no promises,” John wondered how their parents coped with them if they communicated like that all the time. “They don’t,” Sherlock said.  
“What?”  
“Cope, they just leave us to it.”  
“How did you...?”  
“Doesn’t matter,” Sherlock replied. “That’s your house right?’’ They turned the corner until they were on the deserted road in the cold and dark alone. Sherlock pointed to John’s house.  
“…yeah”

The dark haired boy sighed and frowned, mumbling something about ‘too soon to end’  
Then, without any warning, John was pushed up against the brick wall. Sherlock stood, their feet millimetres apart and his hands were placed on the wall either side of John. Sherlock’s head tilted down. John looked up to see Sherlock’s face right next to his own, their noses touched. His glorious eyes were serious and his eyebrows furrowed. light rain fell as Sherlock closed his eyes and leant further forward….


	6. He's Thunderstorms

_The type of kisses where teeth collide_

His lips brushed against John’s, gently at first then the kisses got stronger and faster. Intense adrenaline was pumping through John’s veins. He gripped the taller boys hips and pulled closer, pressing his lips against the pale, thin yet passionate mouth of the greaser he’d been obsessing about for what felt life a lifetime. The world spun, Sherlock’s blue shot-stained tongue slid skilfully and gracefully between John’s quivering lips. The shorter boys knees felt weak, he gripped onto the rain-dampened vest, crinkling the ‘Three Bad Jacks’ logo. Sherlock’s cool fingers ventured through John’s raindrop drenched hair, sending shivers down the boy’s spine. The luscious, heavenly taste of shot syrup occupied John’s tastebuds that were once green from the shots he’d taken but now they were a turquoise shade from the blue tongue that had left its colour behind.

_Your love is like a studded leather headlock_   
_Your kiss it could put creases in the rain_   
_You're rarer than a can of dandelion and burdock_   
_And those other girls are just postfix lemonade_

John felt cold hands cup his burning face, Sherlock angled John’s face towards his own and kissed him again. John stared at the motley eyes of the boy that had just embraced him, he wanted this to last forever, all sense of confusion and fear had melted away leaving the feeling of extreme exhilaration and just pure love. Sherlock expression seemed melancholic and forlorn, like a kicked puppy John just want to hug him to feel his warmth again but as he reached out Mycroft beeped his horn from down the road. Sherlock turned and began to walk down the alley.  
“What was that?” John breathed.  
“I love you,” Sherlock said, clear as day, tiny raindrops slid down his blanched face. John stood alone in the numbing cold letting the drizzle drench him as Sherlock disappeared down the alley. John’s thoughts were all a mess perplexity flooding his mind.

_And the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways_   
_So in case I'm mistaken,_   
_I just wanna hear you say you got me baby_   
_Are you mine?_

The loose tarmac crunched beneath John’s feet. Millions of questions danced around his head.  
Was Sherlock serious? Did he mean it? Was it just the alcohol talking? Was he taking the piss out of him?. John sat down in the porch of his house, aching head in his freezing hands. The skies were starting to get brighter now, he could feel dark circles of sleep deprivation form beneath his eyes. John stood up and slowly turned the handle of the front door, cautiously prising the door open. He snuck inside and quietly kicked off his wet shoes and tip-toed up to his bedroom.

_You knew that he'd be trouble right before the very first kiss_

John slid his finger across the phone screen and unlocked it, he tapped on the contacts icon and scrolled down until he found the picture of Sherlock. Johns thumbs danced around the ‘Send Message’ button. He clicked it. The screen displayed an empty text box that read ‘Send Message to Begin Conversation’. John’s fingers shifted along the letters, not knowing what to type. Every time he began a sentence it sounded so wrong, every letter screamed ‘needy and desperate’.  
“This is pathetic,” John muttered as he tossed his phone to the floor. He undressed and climbed into bed, too worried about other things to change into pyjamas so he just slept in his red boxers.

_Been fighting with my sheets_   
_And nearly crying in my sleep_   
_Yes, I'm battling that well taught gripe_   
_The most restraining type_   
_You should have racing stripes_

Instead of sleeping John just lay restlessly all night, tossing and turning for hours until the clock showed:  
 **Saturday - 7:00 am**  
Harry worked in retail, She decided to hang up the ‘Job offers’ page from the newspaper on the wall and throw darts at it, whatever dart first landed on an offer she would apply for. The first dart landed on a hospital porter but she just classified that as a practice throw and threw again, landing on sales assistant. So every morning she’s expected to get up at 7 and get herself down to the shop. Harry really wasn't the friendliest person in the morning so She’d often play music louder than appreciated to ‘brighten her spirit’.  
John’s head was still thumping from the events of last night but luckily Harry had chosen to play Lana’s album this morning, one of the quieter albums in Harry’s collection compared to her usual rowdy music.  
‘But you fit me better than my favourite sweater, and I know  
That love is mean, and love hurts’ She sang.  
John started down at his best cream cable knit jumper that he wore at almost every chance he got. Last night he had rehearsed many times the text he was going to send Sherlock so after pulling on his jumper he unlocked his phone and opened Sherlocks contact. John began to type but doubt filled his mind again. All the stupid questions coming back to him.  
“Come on…. Just type,” he encouraged himself.

**I still don’t know if what happened last night was supposed to happen.**   
**Sent 7:03**   
**Seen 7:07**

**Talk to me please**   
**Sent 7:10**   
**Seen 7:11**

**I’m not upset or angry, I just need to know if that wasn’t a mistake**   
**Sent 7:18**   
**Seen 7:18**

**Sherlock…**   
**Sent 7:25**   
**Seen 7:26**

**What are you doing?**   
**Sent 7:27**   
**Seen 7:29**

**Please, I’m begging you.**   
**Sent 7:39**   
**Seen 7:42**

John threw his phone across the room. Great. Now Sherlock wont even text him, not so much as a ‘K’  
He climbed back into bed and hid under the covers curled up into a small, feeble ball. His tongue still turquoise.


	7. Despair in the Departure Lounge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be a longer chapter but I decided to stick with my roughly-1,000-words-per-chapter plan, so yeah, I've already begun the next chapter so I'll be updating soon enough ;)

Saturday was spent with John sat huddled in his bed covers watching the rain drip down the window and fall onto the old rotting windowsill. His phone was being checked almost every second but every time there was no text. Nothing.

_I heard an unhappy ending_   
_It sort of sounds like you leaving_   
_I heard the piledriver waltz_   
_It woke me up this morning_

The sky soon darkened as it turned 10pm. John felt tears welling in his eyes, this time yesterday he was at the Lion’s Mane with Sherlock yet here he was, duvet over his head comforting him from all the confusion and worry and disappointment that was Sherlock Holmes. John remembers every moment, every touch, every sound form that night but it only put him in a worse state of sadness. He just wanted something, anything from the greaser, just to show that he cared. Just to show this wasn’t a wind up.

_Well calm down temper temper, you shouldn't get so annoyed_   
_You're acting like a silly little boy_

John poked at the dark circles beneath his eyes, it was Sunday morning and he hadn't had a nights sleep since Thursday. No matter how tired he felt, no matter how exhausted he became, no matter how strained -physically and emotionally- he was. He just could not sleep. Whenever John closed his eyes he saw Sherlock stood there with his smirk, perfect hair, dreamy eyes and lips that John felt he knew every part of, his dream boy had turned into his favourite worst nightmare. Sherlock still managed to break John down into little lovestruck pieces when he was nowhere near him.  
The clock ticked on, John watched his Sunday waste away to nothing until he had to get ready for school the next morning. John’s mum had got increasingly worried about her little boy, she’d tried leaving him comfort food and stacks of sad DVDs like The Notebook, Brokeback Mountain, Titanic even Marley & Me, using all the get-over-them methods she had previously used on Harry but John wasn’t interested, he only took a sleeping pill his doctor had suggested. They worked to a certain extent, John did manage to gain a few hours of much needed sleep before Monday morning. Sherlock still infected John’s brain with memories and feelings.

_Tell me where's your hiding place_   
_I'm worried I'll forget your face_   
_And I've asked everyone_   
_And I'm beginning to think I imagined you all along_

“Come on Johnny, I’ll drive you to school today,” his Mum smiled sweetly, trying her hardest to encourage her son to smile. “I wish you’d put that phone down for just a second.”  
The drive to school was painfully slow, John was itching to just rip off his seatbelt and run. It’d been years since he’d seen Sherlock, at least that’s how it felt. There was still an aching in his excited heart.

_Cause you're so dark, babe_   
_But I want you hard_   
_You're so dark, babe_   
_You're so dark_   
_You're so dark_   
_You're so dark_

‘Love is stupid.’ John thought to himself, everything seemed to be moving at a pace he couldn’t keep up with, all his fantasies had turned to reality in under a week, it was enough to make your head spin. He felt he was caught in a whirlwind of thrill, love, affection, passion, anger, sadness, stress and everything in-between. All over a boy. But he was more than that, Sherlock was a mistake, a beautiful, incomprehensible, glorious mistake that John would fall into the trap of over and over again.  
His hyperactive heart hammered against his ribs when the car pulled up to the school gates.  
“Bye!” John chirped after almost falling out of the car in a rush. Thick swarms of people pushed to get into the huge building often referred to as Hell. John jumped up and stood on his tip-toes to peer over the crowds to try and spot the schoolboy he’d been engrossed in for the past two days. John got into school with no success, it was pointless asking people if they’d seen him because Sherlock was the kind of person people saw but never bothered to learn the name of. The bell rang signalling first class. History was the first lesson for John, perfect, Sherlock was in that class… that was the class where it all began. John smiled to himself as he reminisced while making his way outside Mr Hasworth’s classroom.  
All the students filed into the History room but John stayed behind, waiting outside like a puppy for his master, just waiting for the greaser to turn the corner. All John could hear was the hallway clock ticking.  
Tick, Tick, Tick.  
Any second now, Any second and Sherlock would turn the corner, walking in slow motion, the light would shine on him and the draft from the open windows would lightly blow his perfect hair just like in the movies while John’s heart would beat fiercely like in ‘The Grinch’ or ‘The Mask’ and his jaw would drop too. Sherlock would surely be ‘SSSSSSMOKIN’’ as The Mask would put it.  
At least that’s what would happen if Sherlock turned up.

_It seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye_

He was always late on Mondays but John still felt bitter disappointment as he took his usual seat where he used to daydream and listen to Arctic Monkeys secretly as Mr Hasworth babbled on. John slipped out his ear phones and opened his music to put on the usual tunes, there he sat, watching the door with anticipation just waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

_Oh the boy's a slag_   
_The best you ever had_   
_The best you ever had_   
_Is just a memory and those dreams_   
_Weren't as daft as they seem_   
_Not as daft as they seem_   
_My love when you dream them up_

‘Fluorescent Adolescent’ only made John contemplate a lot of things, mainly if Sherlock was really just a fragment of his imagination. It would explain how Sherlock was always ‘too good to be true’ in John’s mind.  
The clock on the wall showed that the lesson only had half an hour left.  
The boy that seemed a fairytale hadn’t shown.  
Yet.  
But John couldn’t help thinking of the worst scenarios, he turned up the music in an effort to drown out his thoughts. John yawned and rubbed his tired eyes, the days of sleeplessness were catching up with him, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier until John gave in and drifted into a sweet sleep with ‘Stuck On The Puzzle’ serenading him into Dreamland, his head buried in his arms on top of the desk that he’d etched Sherlock’s name into with a compass last week. This bloody Greaser was slowly killing him and he wasn’t even done yet.

* * *

 

While I get on with the next chapter you should totally listen to [Stuck On The Puzzle](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K0YEVNacmtw) in preparation, The music video (If you were wondering) is from Submarine, one of my favourite films which you should also check out because it's filmed/directed in such an unusual way, the amazing Alex Turner wrote the soundtrack and Craig Roberts plays the main character and he might just be one of my favourite actors :] oh look, there's a convenient link to it right [here](http://www.firedrive.com/file/5683C42AB3489DA2)

and just incase you didn't get [The Mask](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mon1FUXnGCo) reference, also [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVOa3xhl0bg).


	8. Pretty Visitors

_I have been searching from_  
 _the bottom to the top_  
 _for such a sight_  
 _as the one I caught when I saw your_

_Fingers dimming the lights_  
 _like you’re used to being told that you're trouble_  
 _and I spent all night_  
 _stuck on the puzzle_

There he was, Sherlock, lying asleep on his back on the grassy bank. His arms behind his head making a soft kind of cushion, It was a bright summers day and the light was shining on Sherlock’s bare chest, delightfully enhancing the muscles of his abdomen right down to the top of his jeans, his pelvis half exposed in an almost provocative manner. His face seemed so calm and serene, eyelids closed displaying his long, dark lashes in all their glory. Jet black hair in the flawless style like waves of a Californian beach, cheekbones deep like the picturesque canyons and nose petit. This boy just pulled at John’s heartstrings so effortlessly it was frustrating.

_I forget how I want it_  
 _How it crept up on me_  
 _It takes over_  
 _Electricity_

Flashbacks of the hands and lips all over him made John loose his breath again, he walked over to the sleeping greaser carefully and silently, scared that if he moved to fast Sherlock would just vanish. He had a tendency of doing that.  
“Sh-Sherlock?”  
“John? JOHN!”  
John gasped as he sat bolt upright, back in the old classroom with Mr Hasworth right beside him.  
“You fell asleep,” he said as John looked around the empty classroom “You looked exhausted this morning so I left you to it, are you sure you're alright?”  
“Y-Yeah I’m fine,” John mumbled, disappointed. “Did Sherlock come in?”  
“Sherlock? No, I haven’t seen him. Why?”  
“Mmmm, no reason,” John murmured, lifting his bag off the floor and swung it over his shoulder. Surprise, Surprise, Sherlock was a no show.  
John looked down at his arm, the greaser’s name was faintly imprinted on the softer skin of his forearm, John had slept on top of his engraving and it had left its mark. Just like Sherlock himself.  
He left the History room to be greeted by Mike. Great. Mike was always in a cheery mood, so happy it made John feel sick.  
“You’ll never guess what ‘append mate,” Mike said, jumping up and down.  
“You’re right, I won’t,” John rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the fatigue, grief and heartache.  
“I got her number!” Mike pulled out his phone so over excited he dropped it. John remembered when he felt that happy…  
The girl who had entered her number had short blonde hair and a cheeky grin, seemed like a nice girl.  
“Well, say something,” Mike was beaming.  
“Erm, congrats?” John shurgged.  
“Mate, I’ve been trying to get with her for months! a little enthusiasm would be appreciated.”

_Am I snapping the excitement_  
 _If I pack away the laughter, and tell you how it feels?_

“I’m sorry,” John said, with no sense of apology in his tone whatsoever. The sooner he could escape Mikes suffocating grasp the better, despite being John’s only friend he could be irritating ever now and then, this was one of those times.  
Religious studies was next on his timetable. Mr Hasworth must’ve let John sleep through most of break time too, it was just a couple minutes until next lesson. John told Mike he had to be somewhere and left before the boy could ask where. The hallways were silent, they always were on Mondays, only muted conversations.  
John’s ears pricked up when they heard a familiar deep tone. He stopped in his tracks, Could it be? He turned around but only to see a group of 6th form boys walk past. A sigh of defeat escaped John’s lungs as he sat cross legged on the floor outside the R.E. classroom, head against the wall.

_The eyes are getting heavier and whether you're asleep or awake is a mystery_  
 _Would a kiss be too much to ask?_

A uncomfortably loud bell rung John out of his alseep-but-not-yet state, using the last remaining energy he forced himself to stand up and follow the rest of the students into the class. Like the start of every lesson he took out his books and pencil case, doing the same thing multiple times a day, five days a week can make anyone feel like a robot. His books were all covered in S.H. and all his favourite lyrics. He’d tried drawing Sherlock so many times but no doodle could ever come close to boy so exquisite.  
John peered out the window. The school was built by a main road so there were often people walking past. There was a man, tall and dark, so familiar John did a double-take just to make sure it wasn't in fact you know who. The slideshow his teacher had set up displayed a boy at his bar mitzvah who John could’ve sworn was Sherlock for a second. A video about Jewish religion was narrated by a voice that made John feel like he knew it like it was the voice of a boy he knew very well. Everything was just screaming ‘Sherlock’ like insanity was taking over.

_The day after you stole my heart_  
 _Everything I touched told me it would be better shared with you, with you_

_And now you're hiding in my soup_  
 _And this book reveals your face_  
 _And you're splashing in my eyelids_  
 _The concentration continually breaks_

The class carried on incredibly slowly to John’s despair. The lesson spent trying to keep his mind on task instead of actually paying attention. 15 minutes left.  
Suddenly John’s phone vibrated in his pocket, he hid the phone on his lap and checked what the notification was. The screen displayed a closed envelope with a number 1 in the corner. A text, no one ever texted him, ever. Well, apart from his mum but she’d never text during school times. John typed in the password and the phone brought up the new message. His cheeks flushed. It was from Sherlock.

**John -SH**  
 **Sent 11:45**  
 **Seen 11:45**

John’s palms began to sweat

**Sherlock, where the hell have you been? What have you been doing?**  
 **Sent 11:47**  
 **Seen 11:48**

**Just meet me outside school at 12. -SH**  
 **Sent 11:50**  
 **Seen 11:50**

John’s heart was pumping with hopefulness and adrenaline for the what felt like the 20th time these past few days, Sherlock was going to cause a heart attack sooner or later. This was the first he’d heard from him for days, what was he doing? He doesn’t speak, text or even show up to school and now he wants to meet up. John’s stomach churned, he felt sick with nerves and anticipation. 5 minutes and he’d be face to face with him. _HIM._

**11:56**

**11:57**

**11:58**

**11:59**

**12:00**

It's time.

 


	9. The View From The Afternoon

John’s heart did that little skipping thing it does again as he grabbed his school bags, chucked his books inside and sped out the door. Thick crowds swarmed in the corridors as all the other students left their classes making their way to the groups of friends they all had waiting for them. John waved at Mike who was sitting on their bench with a confused look.

“Hey, come back!”

“Sorry Mike, I’ve got somewhere else to be,” The excited little school boy couldn’t help but smile happily to himself as he said these words, the thought of the greaser got him giddy already. John was so busy fantasising as he skipped down the stairs to realise he’d missed a step, his foot gave way under the unexpected impact and the rest of his body followed after until he ended up in a heap on the floor.

“Wayyyyy,”

“He fell over, He fell over!”

“You plonker!”

A chorus of voices jeered at John, usually he’d feel to awkward to move and just stay sat there with a blushing face but today he was on the move. He got up, brushed himself of and ran on. A strange pulsing sensation came upon John’s cheek as he exited the school gates, great, he had a massive red patch on his left cheek that'd soon turn purple because John had the kind of skin that meant he bruised like a peach.

**I’m outside the gates, where are you?**   
**Sent 12:06**   
**Seen 12:06**

John fumbled with his phone.

_Your rendezvous rate means that you'll never be frightened to make them wait for a while_   
_I doubt it's your style not to get what you set out to acquire_   
_The eyes are on fire_   
_You are the unforecasted storm_

The anticipation that was thick in the air made time move twenty billion times longer. It was centuries before a response to the question came.

“Here.”

That deep tone sent pure shivers of delight down John’s spine. He felt it, so close, right behind his ear. He could smell that familiar scent, petrol and cigarettes. It was him, It could only be him. John turned around to face the boy the voice had come from and his eyes fell upon those smooth lips, a cigarette sticking out between them. Seeing this person that'd caused so much stress right in front of him made John feel a mixture of different emotions. He wanted to kick him, make him feel the pain he’d sat through, he wanted to ask a million questions to get the answers he’d been looking for for days, he wanted to kiss the boy all over again to reassure himself of the existence of Sherlock Holmes. Yet he did nothing. Just stood there, staring, taking in every little detail from the freckle-less skin to the shape Sherlock’s mouth made when he exhaled the smoke. “Well, are we going to go or not?”

“What?”

“Are you just going to stare and say nothing or are we going to go?” John looked at the greaser with a face of disbelief, he’d disappeared for days and he wasn't going to explain himself?

“Well, I was kinda expecting an excuse of some sort.”

“Sorry?” Sherlock tilted his head like a confused puppy “…oh, you mean…Well, I didn’t want to discuss it because usually I don’t show signs of affection is such dramatic ways. I was drunk. I prefer to keep any signs of weakness and feeling undercover.”

“Hang on a second,” John’s stomach flipped “You didn't mean any of what you did?” It hurt just to think it, let alone hear the words spoken out loud.

“No. No,no,no of course I meant it, I just don’t like to be so open, it makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. But there’s something about you, John, You make me feel something I’ve never felt before and I… I’ve done it again. Okay, we are leaving right now before I say anything else I will regret later on.”  
John stood stock still for a second, his brain using all its power to take in everything that’d just come out of Sherlock’s mouth. His own mouth was dry and his palms damp with cold sweat, eventually John shook his head and tossed all thoughts to the back of his mind, all this drama could be saved for later but right now he had to run to catch up with Sherlock who was already stood with the passenger seat door of the Ford Cortina open, waiting for John to get in. John admired the interior of the old car ignoring the back seats covered in empty cigarette packets, clothes, albums, school books and a couple of Mycroft’s umbrella that Sherlock had probably stolen to aggravate him.  
“Here, put one of those shirts on. People will recognise your uniform.” Sherlock gestured to the pile of T-shirts once both boys were sat in the car.

“Where are you taking me?” John asked, just realising that he has just left school in the middle of the day and is now being driven God knows where in the Sherlock’s car.

“You’ll see, just put one on.” Sherlock started the engine and pulled out of the car park, John turned and grabbed the first shirt he could get his hands on.

_Well this is a good idea,_   
_He wouldn't do it if it wasn't,_   
_He wouldn't do it if it wasn't one._

John had hold of the shirt in his hand, it was the grey checkered shirt Sherlock would usually roll up the sleeves and wear with a white shirt underneath. He looked at Sherlock, not really knowing what he was supposed to do next. Sherlock was busy driving and bobbing to the faint music on the radio but he turned to look at John and nodded. John took off his school blazer, still with his seat belt on, un-tied his tie and begun unbuttoning his school shirt, undressing in the car of the boy he had a huge crush on felt incredibly weird in a number of ways. He winced as his the seat belt pinged against the bruise on his cheek that was now a dark byzantium kind of colour.

“Trust you to bruise yourself like that falling down the stairs,” Sherlock smiled to himself.  
“How d'you know I fell down the stairs?” John finished unbuttoning his shirt with the school badge embroidered onto it, keeping a distance from the seatbelt.  
“It’s all in the colouring, shape, size, depth and so on. Bruises are as easy to read as children’s Peter and Jane books,” John laughed at the mental image of Sherlock sat cross legged with piles of these books beside him, criticising the simple literature.

John sat with his unbuttoned shirt on. There really wasn't a very quick way of switching shirts without flashing your chest, and John really didn't want to do that but that was the only way around it. He slipped off his shirt and piled it on top of his bag, blazer and tie, catching Sherlock in the act glancing at his bare chest but he pretended not to notice as he put on Sherlock’s grey shirt, it was way too long for John, the shirt sagged around his thighs and the tips of his fingers didn't even peep over the edge of the cuffs. He tucked the shirt that seemed to absorb the wonderful smell of the greaser into his trousers and rolled up the sleeves, not quite as well as Sherlock did but good enough.

“You’re like E.T. when those kids dressed him up, so cute!” Sherlock smiled briefly then cleared his throat awkwardly and replaced the smile with his signature bitch face when he realised what he’d said. John blushed trying not to laugh, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of power whenever he made Sherlock break his wall of emotionlessness.  
Just 10 minutes into the drive and E.T., nakedness, blushing and kid’s books had already occurred. It was only midday, meaning the conversations could only get weirder… ‘Oh God’ John thought out loud.


	10. Pleasure Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bitch to write...

Trees and houses flew past the car window. Sherlock had been driving particularly fast after he last spoke with a face on that showed he was still trying to get to grips with the statement he’d made. His pride clearly bruised. John looked in the wing mirror at the purple mark across his cheek, little patches of yellow were forming now. Brilliant.  
The Ford then turned towards the local town, Monday was never really a busy day in town, just a few old couples and mothers doing grocery shopping, why would Sherlock go to town?

_I've seen your eyes as they fix on me what is he doing what on earth is the_   
_Plan has he got one_   
_You better give me some pointers since you are the big rocket launcher and_   
_I'm just the shot gun_

“Stop worrying about everything, John. It’s distracting and I’m trying to drive,” Sherlock finally spoke as he drove into a car parking lot. John watched Sherlocks hands as he moved the shifter, spun the wheel and unlocked his seatbelt. Sherlock’s hands were pale, his fingers skinny and long, veins of a light Sapphire patterned the back of his wrists and his fingernails were always well groomed.

They got out the car and John tagged along behind Sherlock, watching his every move. This boy in the tight jeans and loose shirt was so unreal that every second felt like a dream. John caught up with him and walked close beside until their hands brushed against each other, little bolts of lightning shot through John’s veins every time contact was made. That was all that happened during the walk to town. No conversation, Sherlock wasn't really one for small talk and there was nothing _to_ discuss apart from you-know-what but it was clear that that discussion was not an option, not now anyway.

“Where are we going? Just put me out of my misery, please,” John looked at Sherlock with his best puppy-dog eyes, but they would never be as successful as Sherlock’s, he could make your heartbreak into a trillion pieces with just one bat of his lashes.  
“I think we should go to-- wait…” Sherlock stopped mid walk.  
“What?”  
“Shhh!” Sherlock put a hand over John’s mouth and looked around as if he was looking for the noise.  
“I cn’t hrr anythng!” John mumbled between the gaps of Sherlock’s cold fingers.  
“SHUSH!” eventually the distant sound of a cheerful tune came across the street.  
“That’s --“  
“An ice-cream van!” Sherlock interrupted John’s observation and legged it across the road. “Come on!” he shouted after John who was stood alone with a confused expression. John rolled his eyes and sped walked after the Greaser who was definitely an excitable puppy in reality. He caught up and they turned the corner to be greeted by a van decorated in a range of different ice creams and lollies. Sherlock tugged at John’s arm excitedly, willing him to hurry up.  
“Have you never gotten an ice-cream before or something?” John laughed.  
“Mycroft never lets-- I mean, er, no,” Sherlock turned to face the man in the ice-cream truck before John could see his cheeks turn pink. He ordered the traditional whippy with a flake and chocolate sauce and turned to John, waiting for a reply to the telepathic question of ‘well, what do you want?’  
“Nah, I’m- I’m alright.” Sherlock pulled a face as if to say ‘your loss!’ and handed the man a handful of coins. John grinned to himself as he saw the Greaser’s face light up like a child at Christmas. He began eating it eagerly, the chocolate sauce turned the pure white cream brown, it was still in the swirly style and with its new colour the ice-cream began to look a lot like Alex Turner’s signature fringe formation. Sherlock hummed with satisfaction as he bit into the flake and he carried on doing so for the rest of the walk to town.

They passed shop after shop until all that was left were the places at the very end of the street that always seemed abandoned and, well, a waste of space really. The was a small shop painted a faded shade of purple, there was only an old lady inside at the till, she was surrounded by little fairy ornaments, pixies, dragons and mermaids alike. Little pots of glitter disguised as wishing dust were lined up along a shelf beside some candles and bracelets. Across the road from that was an old book shop, a charity shop and a hair salon. The last building was the biggest, the outside covered in neon lights and huge signs. ‘Pleasure Place’ was written in bright red on the sign above the entrance. ‘No wonder this place isn't very popular,’ John thought looking at Sherlock anxiously.

“Do you want the rest of this?” Sherlock handed John the ice cream cone with at least half a scoop of ice cream left. “I’m full,” Sherlock never ate much but you’d’ve thought anyone could handle an Ice-cream, easy. John took the cone with a few little nibble marks around the edge, his stomach rumbled, pleading John to eat something, anything. He bit the cone a bit too hungrily and the sweet, melted desert dripped down his chin, Sherlock laughed at began to walk into the ‘Pleasure Place’. Distant music was playing throughout the arcade, the air was stale, warm and there was a strange smell coming from the dark blue carpet that looked a lot like what you'd expect to see on bus seats. Old pinball, slot and clawing machines were dotted around. Cheap novelty toys were placed upon the coppers in the slot machines along with some tickets and lollipops that had melted into a syrupy mess under the heat of the lights inside the machine. An array of teddies were sat, caged inside the claw machines begging to be freed. In the corner there were a couple of those Postman Pat and Thomas the Tank Engine machines that you could sit on, put in a pound and ride on as they moved up and down. It was deserted, excluding a couple of forlorn looking teenagers in orange T-shirts that had ‘Pleasure Place’ embroidered on the back with ‘worker’ stitched beneath.

Sherlock was already at the slot machines, picking up 2 pence pieces from the floor and inserting them into the slits, watching them fall down to join the rest of the coins sat upon the moving draw. Something was incredibly calming about watching the tall boy leaning against the glass machine with the lights illuminating his face, giving it an angelic sort of glow. John snapped out of his moment of admiration when he heard the town clock chime One. He had no idea who long Sherlock was planing on keeping him, He thought Sherlock just wanted to see him for a talk but apparently not. John felt his stomach (and the ice-cream indie it) drop, it was time fro the next lesson at school and he wasn't there. John’s school had a policy where if a student doesn't turn up to a lesson and hasn't signed out their parents will be sent a text saying that their child is ‘missing’. John’s mum would go berserk! God knows how what she’d do.  
“Sherlock….” John shouted in a voice that sounded a lot more timid than he’d hoped. “I need to go,”  
“No, you don’t” Sherlock replied, still slotting coins into the machine.  
“But my school will--“  
“They won’t, look I’ve sorted everything, okay.”  
“…Sherlock… What did you do?”


	11. From the Rubble to the Ritz

John stood between Sherlock and the slot machine, crossed his arms and stared him in the eye.

“I called up and said you were sick,” Sherlock sighed “Pretending to be your mother,” John’s facial expression slowly warped from monotone and serious to grinning like an idiot, as the mental image of Sherlock pretending to be his Mum grew stronger the urge to laugh became bigger and bigger until John had to lean against the machine to stop himself from falling to the floor in tears of laughter. Sherlock stood with a face like thunder before spinning on his heels and walking over to a grab machine, eyeing up ever machine.

“You know those things are fixed, right?” John giggled, wiping his eyes.

“Obviously, John, the claw only closes properly at every hundred try.”

“Then why do you bother playing?”

“Oh John…” Sherlock tutted “The trick is to look at the machines, observe them. Tell me which one you think would be closest to the hundredth grab.” Sherlock stood a couple of steps back next to John and pushed him forward. John blinked hopelessly at the array of machines, flashing lights almost blinding him. All the teddies inside looked like they had clinical depression of some sort, covered in dust, buttoned eyes almost falling off and the fur seemed to be melting under the heat of the lights inside.

“This one?” John pointed at the machine with Mickey Mouse rip-offs inside, instead of friendly they looked demonic with their lopsided ears and bland colours. He turned to face Sherlock to try and read his expression which honestly was easy to do when he had his head tilted to the side, scowling eyes and subtly frowning mouth. “...Not this one?” John looked around the arcade to try and ignore the look of utter disappointment on Sherlock’s face.

“That machine is only on 49, John, This is the one you want,” He pointed to the machine at the far left filled with round stuffed animals with glass eyes “That one is on 97.” John did the usual and questioned how he knew and Sherlock did the usual and answered how he knew, something to do with fingerprints, grease, dust, angles and positioning.  
Sherlock inserted a pound coin to start the machine up, ‘3’ conveniently flashed up on the counter for remaining attempts. He moved the joystick and pressed the ‘Grab’ button, no success. He tried again and the claw failed to grab anything.

_And we're forever unfulfilled_   
_Can't think why_   
_Like a search for murder clues_   
_In dead man's eyes_

The counter was at ‘1’ and Sherlock moved away from the machine to let John take hold of the joystick. “This is the hundredth attempt, if my deductions are correct, which they are more often than not, you should win. So don’t mess up…. On second thoughts…” Sherlock stood behind John and put one hand on the joystick and the other on the 'Grab' button His hands were cold against John’s, they always were. John blushed, this was so cliché, like that scene in ‘Ghost’ where they’re doing the pottery together. Feeling Sherlock up against him, breathing soothingly past his neck and holding his hands made John feel weak. “Which one do you want?” John could _feel_ every syllable vibrate in Sherlock’s neck travel down his spine.

“I - I don’t mind,” John managed to find his voice. None of the teddies were particularly appealing, all he wanted to focus on now was Sherlock right up against his back with his arms around him and his chin resting on John’s golden hair. Sherlock moved the joystick and guided John’s hand until the claw was hovering over a little kingfisher teddy, an unusual choice but that was Sherlock all over. The ‘Grab’ button was pressed by both their hands, John held his breath, watching the claw slowly descend, clutch the toy, move back up again and travel back to the hole, just waiting for the teddy to drop like every other time. But it didn’t, the only time it did drop was when the claw had successfully hovered back over the hole, the kingfisher fell down the hole and landed behind the flap. John went to retrieve the kingfisher and looked at Sherlock with a face of disbelief, the Greaser was leaning against the machine with his arms crossed and a smug expression painted on his proud face.

“Told you.”

“Fluke!…Coincidence!” John protested.

“The universe is rarely so lazy.” Sherlock smirked and tugged John’s hand with the kingfisher in, leading him to the fruit machine.

“Let me guess, you’ve found the loop hole to these too.”

“Of course, but I’m not sharing them with you.”

“So this is how your family is so rich…” John joked, poking Sherlock in his side to make him squirm.

_I want to see all of the things that we've already seen_   
_I want to see you take the jackpot out the fruit machine_   
_And put it all back in_   
_You've got to understand it you can never beat the bandit, no_

Sherlock inspected the machine, almost like a sniffer dog checking all the luggage. Eventually he inserted a coin, pulled the lever and what looked like hundreds of pennies fell out the bottom. “Well, that’s paid for the ice-cream, slot machine and kingfisher,” He smiled to himself as he wrapped an arm around John’s neck, leaning on his shoulder. “What next?” It was almost 2 o’Clock and John had only eaten half an ice-cream, his stomach rumbled as if it acknowledged that that was its cue. “Fine, food it is,” Sherlock whirled John around and walked out of the ‘Pleasure Place’ with him. There were a lot of little cafés dotted around town, judging by Sherlock’s fast pace and eagerness he knew a good place. John couldn’t help but laugh, watching the lanky boy trot along in his well worn Doc Martens, blue jeans and plain shirt with the short sleeves rolled up making it a sort of tank top, could make anyone smile. John looked down at the grey checkered shirt he’d borrowed, the familiar scent of Sherlock was beginning to merge with his own, a sigh of satisfaction escaped John’s lungs before he ran to catch up with the Greaser, walking close so their arms touched again.


	12. Black Treacle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually sorta proud of this chapter... huh, what d'you know. Give it a couple weeks and I'll probably hate it.

They walked along the sunlight street, almost hand in hand.  
“Here,” Sherlock smiled when they reached a little, cosy looking café. Inside there were lots of little tables with red and white cloths draped over them, mis-matching chairs sat around them. There was a long distressed wooden table by the window with matching benches bedside them, a mother was sat feeding her toddler a scone, they smiled when they saw Sherlock. Three old ladies the back of the homely café, one knitting, one immensely enjoying a cheesecake and the other trying to work her way around an iPad.

There was a counter behind the women, filled with cakes, buns, pastries and snacks galore. A blackboard menu was hung on the wall displaying ranges of drinks, John was halfway through reading it when an elderly lady walked out from the kitchen in a grey blouse and an apron patterned with little cartoon drawings of food, she smiled brightly and put the cup of tea she was carrying on the counter to greet Sherlock with a hug.  
“Ahhh, Sherlock!” she chirped.  
“Mrs Hudson, how are you?” Sherlock actually returned the hug, which was a surprise because he wasn't the kind of person that’s very keen on human contact. They carried on their greeting until Sherlock asked for two teas and a slice of victoria sponge cake. He tugged John over to the other window where there was a little table and two chairs, he sat John down and shuffled the other seat closer to him so they were sat side by side. Mrs Hudson brought over their tea in floral china tea cups and the cake on a hand painted dish.

Sherlock began sipping his tea, John anxiously drank the steaming liquid from his cup and yelped as the tea burnt his tongue. Sherlock laughed into his cup making the tea spill over the table, he mopped it up with the napkin wrapped around the fork for the cake.  
“Are you going to eat or not?” Sherlock pushed the cake over to John.  
“My tongues burnt!” He replied in defence.  
“Come here,” Sherlock sighed, he picked up the fork and broke of a piece of cake “Open,” John opened his mouth and tried his hardest to eat the cake while trying not to laugh or blush at Sherlock’s actions. This carried on forkful after forkful until the plate was clear. “Better?”  
“Mmmhmm,” John smiled, licking the buttercream off his lips. Sherlock wiped the remaining jam from the plate on his finger and ate it, humming satisfaction from the sweet conserve.  
“Let’s go, I need to smoke and Mrs Hudson will scold me if I do it in here,” Sherlock carried over the cups and plate to the cash register and left a handful of coins “Thank-you for the tea!” he shouted towards the kitchen.  
“Anytime Sweetie,” came the reply. The little bell above the door rang as they exited. Sherlock took out his packet of cigarettes, the back of the box was black with bold white writing ‘SMOKING CAUSES A SLOW AND PAINFUL DEATH’ with a grotesque image of someone with infections, missing teeth and everything in-between.  
“Doesn’t that bother you?” John took the box from Sherlock after he had taken out his cigarette and analysed the image closer, instantly regretting that decision as the cake churned in his stomach.  
“John, have you ever seen anyone that bad? They’re all overly photoshopped rubbish. Everyone complains that ‘life is too short’ but eighty years on his planet is enough to drive anyone insane. You might as well enjoy the ride,” He lit the cigarette and took a deep, slow drag just to annoy John, he held it in before tipping his head back, sun shining on his face as he exhaled. The smoke curled and twisted up in the breeze, Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed contently then tapped the ash off the end of the cigarette. “Doesn't curiosity ever get the better of you?” Sherlock looked at John with the eyes that looked right through him, right through his skull and into his mind.

_And baby, hey_  
 _You send a shiver down my spine_  
 _But do you read my mind_  
 _Do you…_

“Well…. I-“  
“Let me try something,” Sherlock interrupted John’s nervous stutter. “Just close you eyes and breath in when I tell you to,” Sherlock grabbed John’s arms reassuringly and held him still. John closed his eyes. The waiting was intense, Sherlock took one of his hands off him for a second and when he put his hand back John heard him dragging his foot along the pavement, as if he was crushing something into it. “Breathe,” The deep voice commanded him and he did as he was told. Everything felt normal… until suddenly John felt his lungs filling with something other than the clear air, it was a weird sensation, like he was breathing in the universe. The sensation then turned to something more uncomfortable, like the stars and planets he’d breathed in crumbled to dust and sand, scratching at his throat and the insides of his lungs were going raw. John couldn’t keep his eyes closed any more, when he opened them he nearly choked. Sherlock was just millimetres away form him, hips lips forming a perfect ‘O’ as he was exhaling the smoke from his own perfect mouth into John’s. Sherlock’s eyes were closed, he looked so peaceful, John wanted to hold onto this moment for all eternity but soon Sherlock ran out of smoke to give. His eyes opened revealing the dazzling blue that the eyelids had covered. “Hold it,” Sherlock said, noticing John’s expression of discomfort. John closed his eyes, the feeling was intense. “Breathe,” John began to exhale but soon ended up in a coughing fit, spluttering and choking, tears in his eyes, smoke flying everywhere.  
Sherlock caught John before he dropped to the floor but he fell under the weight of him. They were in a heap, John on top of Sherlock still wrapped in his arms, faces still close. A huge wave of dizziness hit John like a truck, his chest hurt, his head spun and he couldn’t think straight. Confusion took over all his senses… all but one. It was like his brain could only focus on the waves of electricity being sent like lightning from hips lips. Soon the confusion realised what was happening. Sherlock Holmes was snogging the hell out of John Watson.


	13. If You Were There, Beware

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, I know this has been left for an unacceptable amount of time. I've been on holiday so wifi and spare time have been an issue, also this chapter has been really annoying to write because I've had no motivation. But finally, here it is.

The pavement was cold and hard against John’s back but Sherlock was the total opposite, he felt weightless, warm and incredibly soft yet his kisses were so powerful, as if he couldn’t control himself. Like when someone finally gets a hit of what they've had withdrawal from for weeks… no, with this much passion it must be months. John gripped the shirt around Sherlock’s neck to steady himself against the shock and ‘suddenness’ of his act, also to pull himself closer into his lips. The taste of this new kiss was so different, before it’s been shot syrup, now it was tobacco. The rush of adrenaline shared between the boys was so intense they completely forgot they were in public until voices and footsteps were coming from around the corner.  
“Shit,” or something along those lines escaped from in-between the hurried kisses. Sherlock rolled of John gracefully, standing quickly and holding out a hand to help John up. His cheeks were bright red, along with his lips, this was the most colour John had ever seen in the usually pale, stone cold boy. They rapidly leant against the wall behind them and tried to look as casual as possible, John still red and flustered. A man in a suit followed by a woman talking relentlessly on her phone walked pass, neither of them looked at the exhausted boys, they just carried on walking over the pavement John had previously been embraced on. Once the two passer-bys walked back out of earshot John looked at Sherlock, a second of awkward eye contact passed by until John broke out into laughter in disbelief of what just happened, Sherlock too started sniggering.

  
“What was that?!” John turned to the greaser and gave him a incredulous look, the electricity was still buzzing around and it made him feel high, giddy and desperate for more. Sherlock just replied with a look, the look, the look he gave that John could never read.  
“Lets go,” Sherlock broke eye contact and turned to walk down the street.  
“What?” John hurried after, he wasn’t going to get an answer. This is what being with Sherlock was like, no answers just looks and changing of subject. “Fine, don’t answer me,” John mumbled, expecting a response to his winging but obviously received none. Sherlock had John wrapped around his little finger and John knew it, he just had to bat his lashes or give a cold shoulder and John would fall to his knees and beg for mercy. “Alright, where are we going,” John said, giving up on the hope of an answer or more of what just happened.

  
“Mmmm, cinema,” Sherlock half suggested half demanded. John swore he could see a little smirk on Sherlock’s face when he finally caught up to speed and walked beside him. Their hands brushed again, Sherlock’s hand being freakishly cold… either that or John’s were incredibly hot. Sherlock was doing his face again, the face where he’d just been hit with a load of information and he was trying to sort it. Suddenly his furrowed brow smoothed out as all the information slotted into place. Slowly Sherlock moved his hand, with a lot of caution, as if he were trying not to scare an animal. John felt the boys cold hand slipping between his own hand and his hip, then their fingers weaved together. John was still trying to come over the rush of blood that'd been pumping through his veins so vigorously from before, he squeezed the freezing hand, just to be sure of its existence. Yep, it was there, holding him tightly. Sherlock had a firm grip, his had didn’t sweat, it stayed cold and soft. John looked down at their hands as he was dragged along towards the cinema, the pale, slim hand against John’s tanned and more muscular one looked perfect together. Sherlock’s kiss still remained on John’s lips, he could still feel the body against him even thought they'd spilt minutes ago. This feeling only made John want to grab the boy by the neck and steal a billion kisses, to wrestle him to the ground and hug him just to feel his skin again. He was going insane, again. 

_The way you keep me in pursuit_  
 _Sharpen the heel of your boot_  
 _And you press it to my chest and you make me wheeze_  
 _Then to my knees you do promote me_

The walk to the cinema seemed to take forever, John was yearning for contact of any form. But all Sherlock was giving him was desperation, the sun would hide behind the greasers midnight hair, creating a perfect silhouette, and when it emerged again it’d light up his face with beautiful afternoon light which made Sherlock’s eyes look like a void of blissful colours, his cheeks were shadowed by the high cheekbones he possessed and his lips looked fuller than ever and oh so tempting. “Which one?” Sherlock’s deep voice sent more electricity down John’s spine, he couldn’t reply, his voice didn't seem to be working anymore “There’s either that monkey film or that dragon film, to be honest I’m not bothered, I only took you here for privacy.” John looked at Sherlock in the same Did-you-just-say-what-I-thought-you-said look for what felt like the thousandth time today.  
“I-I dont mind…. which ever one is longer,”  
“Monkey film it is then,” Sherlock smiled and jumped up the steps to the ticket booth.  
‘Ape film…. actually’ John corrected Sherlock in his head, not daring to be so sassy out loud. It was now 3:36pm, the movie had started at 3.  
“I’m sorry, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes has been showing for half an hour now and since you haven’t booked or previously purchased tickets I cannot give you any money off,” The woman in the ticket booth had a face like thunder and she spoke in such a dull tone. You could tell shed much rather be somewhere else. “Here are your tickets to door 3, enjoy the movie!” the words were filled with such fake enthusiasm John was beyond feeling sorry for her and just laughed, she smiled bitterly back and almost flipped him off. The smell of popcorn greeted the boys as they walked through the corridor, a large box was purchased and they moved on to door 3. Their tickets were for the seats in the middle right next to the steps but the cinema was relatively empty so Sherlock naturally dragged John up to the back seats in the far corner. In every town theres that place, that place that everybody knows. That place where the couples go on their first date, and for this town? It was the seats in the back corner of the local cinema.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. That was terrible and I'm sorry.


	14. You Probably Couldn't See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH  
> MY  
> GOD  
> its been way too long. I am terrible, this is terrible and everything is terrible.  
> But not you reading this right now, you're cool, I like you.  
> I'm sorry if I let you down.

_Just think of what he's capable of with his kiss_

The room was pitch black and the cinema was filled with sounds of screeching and shooting, not the most romantic film but nothing really mattered about where they were, it was who they were with. Which, in a blackened room, just felt like the two of them. Sherlock sat on the far seat, John took his place in the seat beside, not really knowing what to do with himself. Was everything really going the way he expected? who knows what Sherlock planned or thought.  
“I, er… so,” John tried to think straight but his mind was a mess, he ran a hand over his face, trying to bring himself back down to earth.  
“I don’t know about you John Watson,” Sherlock said out of the blue “and I don’t like not knowing,”

_And I said that kind of talk,_   
_Only adds intrigue,_   
_To the cauldron of thought,_   
_It's already exceeding,_   
_Temptation, the very thing that held him back._

Sherlock sat back in his chair and looked John up and down, you could see the cogs turning in his head, his eyebrows furrowed. Once Sherlock reached examining John’s face, John could feel a blush colour his cheeks, the heat in his face made the bruise feel weird like his heartbeat was so flustered he could feel it pulsing through his head. “You’re not like everyone else, everyone else is bland and boring. You look it, the most ordinary being but you really aren’t,” Sherlock squinted, the look in his eyes was like he was desperately trying to take John down, brick by brick you may say, inspecting every piece over and over like when you consider eating something after dropping it on the floor. The whole time John felt Sherlock’s almost toxic gaze over him, he twiddled his thumbs, thinking ‘oh god oh god’ over and over before making eye contact once silence had fallen. That was not a good idea.

_It's the same stone, his heart was cut out of the same stone_   
_That they used to calve his jaw, it's impossible not to feel inferior_

The dim lighting of the the cinema eerily illuminated he greasers face, making everything so much more mysterious and intriguing. The gentle turquoise light stroked the side of the greasers cheek, fading at the dip of his cheekbone and re-appearing at the curve of his lips then dancing around the skin of his neck. The smooth sounds filling the cinema swirled around the two, creating a cocoon slowly bringing them closer, not tightening, more a hug of encouragement, just willing the magnetism radiating from the boys to become stronger to do the work for them so all they had to do was absorb each other. And John was going to do exactly that, the panic subsided and he just blinked at Sherlock innocently, deep in the emotion of the environment. It felt like they were the film, the music, the lighting, the tension. John felt his heart pound as the space between them shrunk, sherlock’s eyes were alive, John could see seas of data being processed flicker past his pupils before Sherlocks delicate, pale eyelids closed off the blue-grey beauties from the world. The cocoon of sound faded and silenced once lips met.

_Made me kiss ya' with a whisper_   
_and violently you swung, through unfamiliar tongue_   
_Couldn't listen to tradition, grabbed me by the wrist to silently insist_

 

Sherlock was cautious at first, John could feel him more conscious than usual, but once the wall broke, once John shyly opened his mouth letting him have access, Sherlock took control. He effortlessly guided John, his lips, his tongue, all working to their full potential making John feel weak with the electricity speeding through his veins.

_Drawing you in like it’s boring to him_   
_It’s a war you can’t win and the first and the last are two things you’ll never_   
_Be my darling_

Sherlock moved his hands to cup John’s face, tilting him forward and biting lightly on his lower lip. John gasped involuntarily, the cinema blocked out the sound, thankfully, but Sherlock still heard. The Greaser brushed his smoke flavoured tongue over John’s almost trembling lip. John unconsciously grasped Sherlock’s collar, pulling him closer mirroring Sherlocks actions with all the confidence he could muster up. His mind was rushing like the blood under his skin, his body felt ablaze and he was going light headed from the pounding pulse boosting adrenaline. Sherlock’s long fingers slid down to John’s neck, he subtly as possible placed two cold fingertips in the area below John’s jawline, where you’d search for a pulse, John knew this from the clubs he went to as a kid.

_Tell me something I don’t already know_   
_Like how you get your kisses to fill me with electricity_

John pulled away for a second, partially because he was still unsure of the whole situation, partially because he was suddenly conscious of the bright shade of red his face had become but honestly just because he needed a second to get over and come to terms with this. Whatever this was.  
Everything was messy, the nature of their ‘relationship’, the meaning behind all of it. It was rush, a beautiful one at that, one that made John’s heart bloom and his emotions spin.

_From the smoke in your hair to the blood in the bruise_

Sherlock opened his eyes once John was no longer up against him, his expression wasn’t surprised, disappointed or anything John expected, he was calm, completely collected. Sherlock raised his eyebrows a little.  
“Hmmm,” he sighed “Still unclear,” Sherlock wrapped his fingers around Johns forearm, sliding down to his wrist. John shook him off once he realised he was checking for a pulse again. Sherlock didn’t need to check, John could tell him straight off how fast his heart was pumping, it was all he could hear throbbing in his ears. Sherlock’s absence of nerves, his ease, was sort of eerie.  
If he were a normal person.  
Like you or me.  
There’d be something there, anything, at least some form of adrenaline pumped emotion.  
Suddenly John felt completely out of place, like he was going insane, he had to be out of the boys presence. He needed a moment to catch his breath and calm down.  
“I’m just… going to,” John’s voice was but a whisper “Toilet,” he eventually blurted out during a quiet scene of the movie. He, subtly as possible, scrambled out of the row of seats and left the dark room, sliding down the wall of the corridor until he was sat in a heap on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to tell me how horrible that was in the comments :D
> 
> Sidenote: I wanted to post this ASAP so I didn't check over it very thoroughly, if theres any mistakes (hah, please, this whole fic was a mistake) tell me :3


	15. Do I Wanna Know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been what.. a month?  
> I have no excuse this time  
> here it is, if anyone still remembers that this exists anymore   
> The end is nigh btw  
> The next chapter might/probably-will be the last
> 
> Thank-You to anyone that reads this  
> It is very much appreciated :D

John rested his head against the beige painted wall, the red carpeted floor was sticky with toffee popcorn and stained with spilt drink. But that was the last of John’s worries, he traced his finger around the navy pattern swirls in the carpet subconsciously while he swam around deep in his thoughts.

_I don't ever want to hate you,_   
_It's not part of the plan,_   
_So keep your charm where I can't see it,_   
_And your hands where I can_

 Nothing made sense, he had everything he’d wanted since he’d laid eyes on the Greaser, everything he dream of happening, all his fantasies were alive. So why was he so uncomfortable? why wasn’t he bouncing off the walls with happiness? why wasn’t he grinning and beaming every second? It’s not that John didn't trust Sherlock, even with his enigmatic presence, he felt safe around the much taller boy. John smiled a little when he thought of how Sherlock had to duck his head or John had to balance on his tip-toes just to reach each others lips. But that smirk soon faded once his mind focused back on topic.  
The truth being, all that John was scared of was messing up. He had his world at his disposal, such power does things to people, in this case John had just been given his pie in the sky on a shining silver platter in fool’s paradise. It seemed so easy to mess it all up, the pressure of saying something wrong or doing the right thing but at the wrong time was holding John back. All he did was run away from what could be, living in his head was a much safer bet because then he was in control, at least there he was cool, carefree. Not awkward and quiet. Muffled sounds of monkeys screeching and artillery being fired became louder all of a sudden, pulling John out of his train wreck of thoughts. He looked up and saw Sherlock unintentionally looming over him. His face was sincere and earnest.

_Quick, let's leave, before the lights come on,_   
_'Cos then you don't have to see,_   
_'Cos then you don't have to see,_   
_What you've done…_

John tried to stand up, intimidated by Sherlock’s presence, but his legs wouldn't move, his voice wouldn't work and his face was frozen in the sheepish expression. The Greaser, to John’s surprise, sat down beside him cross legged and began picking at the floor.  
“I’m sorry, I just- I,” John blurted out, blushing involuntarily  
“Shhh,” Sherlock replied. He wasn’t angry or disappointed, it was as if he’d expected it. John laid his head in his hands, Sherlock was impossible.

_Well I'm looking and you kept staring_   
_Your thoughts pairing up with mine_   
_And when you're so pretty and I'm so shy_   
_You probably didn't give me the eye but I'm sure you did_

“I brought you here for a reason, John,” Sherlock didn’t make eye contact, he just looked at the oversized movie posters nearly falling off the walls, leaving old blue tac and peeling paint behind. “I had to tell you something,” Sherlock eyebrows furrowed, like he was trying to understand what he was attempting to tell himself. John couldn’t help but notice Sherlock’s voice deepen as he mumbled to himself, mulling things over in his head.

_I'll go high pitched, he'll talk and make you voice sound high pitched_   
_Dread to think if he got you on your own_   
_And whispered in your ear in that baritone_

“What is it?” John wanted to say, but Sherlock seemed confused himself, like when doctors are certain they've sussed out whats wrong with a patient but the results say otherwise. The silence dragged out making John’s slow heart beat thump louder with every passing second, the anxiousness over what Sherlock was trying to say grew bigger and bigger the longer John held his breath.  
“How do people phrase it?” Sherlock looked at John with a look that read ‘please help me out here’ “I don't know how I’m supposed to get it across the right way,” Sherlock did something John had never seen before. He looked venerable it was just a little, just a hint. But for someone so stone cold and usually pretty confident as Sherlock, just a little wobble of unsureness shone through fairly easily.

_Won't somebody let me out?_   
_Don't want to stick around no more_   
_Sick of looking at you strange_   
_Sick of sticking to the floor_

John shuffled closer to the boy. Edging as subtly as he could until they were side-by-side with no gap between. John’s hand began to clam up as it brushed against Sherlock’s own cold hand. He noticed the greasers long pale fingers twitch at the contact, slowly John’s much tanner hand slid around Sherlock’s, so that their palms were facing each others. Soon enough they naturally ended up with their fingers entwined, the heat from John’s hand warming the other’s almost frozen fingers.

_And now it's no ones fault but yours_   
_At the foot of the house of cards_   
_You thought you'd never get obsessed_   
_You thought the wolves would be impressed_   
_And you're a sinking stone_   
_But you know what it's like to hold the jeweller's hand_

John looked at Sherlock, he seemed either surprised or just not used to quiet one on one contact. John sighed in a hushed tone so Sherlock wouldn't hear, this was pathetic, neither of them were talking.  
“Please,” John cleared his throat “Tell me,” He couldn’t tell if it was him or Sherlock doing it but their hands squeezed tighter, encoring confidence in both of them.  
“It’s not even that big of a deal, I’m building this up much more than I need to, I don't know why I cant-“ Sherlock spat out, he caught John’s eye contact and held it for a while, eventually they both smiled awkwardly which then evolved into lighthearted laughs. “Okay,” The greaser exhaled. John thought for a second how strange it was to see Sherlock like this, it was different, that was for sure. Sherlock adjusted his collar and shook his head, as if he were ashamed of himself for being so dramatic over what he was trying to convince himself, and John, really wasn’t such a big issue. John still had a hold of Sherlock’s hand as the taller boy shuffled to face John before opening his mouth to finally spit it out.


	16. Love is a Laserquest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this all done in a matter of days... nice  
> I'm finishing this very very late so it might have typos, grammar mistakes whatever (its late, I'm tired) but I figured its best to get this done ASAP so here it is... The finale :)  
> (I didn't get time to read over this multiple times so if it doesn't make sense or if it is pretty damn bad thats why)  
> enjoy my lovelies

_Curiosity becomes a heavy load,_  
 _Too heavy to hold, too heavy to hold._  
 _Curiosity becomes a heavy load,_  
 _Too heavy to hold, will force you to be cold._

“I’m-” Sherlock looked at John as he tightened the grip he had on taller boy “I’m moving,” he blurted out, shrugging it off subtly, as if he thought that perhaps he’d been more dramatic than necessary.  
Something stopped at that moment, wether it was time itself or just John’s brain it made everything halt like slamming on the breaks of a speeding car “Well, thats not so bad, right?” John convinced his beating heart “Wh-where to?”  
“I can’t tell you,” Sherlock’s face was sincere with no hint of explaining himself.  
Words came only slowly from John’s lips “Surely you can say… something?” he furrowed his eyebrows, keeping eye contact with Sherlock as if that would squeeze any words out of him.

_Shadows underneath the eyes,_  
 _everywhere the bastard lies_  
 _My lack of Proof is your disguise, you won't remember me_

  
“If I did I’d have to kill you or hold you hostage,” John laughed nervously at the response, unsure whether Sherlock was joking or not. The boy’s expression made it clear he was being serious, although Sherlock’s face rarely looked like he was joking. John used to wonder whether Sherlock could make a joke, he could be snarky and occasionally sassy but never _joking._  
“Well..” John breathed, exasperated, looking for answers “Are you moving town? country? continent?” John felt his cheeks warm the further away he asked where Sherlock was going.  
The greaser pursed his lips “I want to tell you, John, really. I cant say a word,” Sherlock shuffled “I was not even supposed to tell you anything, I was instructed just to leave. But I cant do that to you and I don't know why, John Watson you do make life hard,”

_Don't even try and cheer him up, because_  
 _It just won't happen_

“So.. you’re,” John scrunched his eyes shut trying to process the news “leaving to somewhere I’m not allowed to know about?” he ran his hand through his hair slowly, slightly messing his short, sandy locks.  
“Yes.” Holmes affirmed with a nod.  
“Well,” John thought hurriedly “We can still text? call? email? …write even?”  
“No.” Sherlock’s face was expressionless.  
John never noticed when his heart stop beating, he only noticed a sinking feeling absorbing him “What?!” John’s eyebrows couldn’t furrow any further, no matter how much confusion he was feeling.  
“I must not talk to you, see you or have any form of contact with you. You must not know my whereabouts or reason for leaving. I must vanish as if I never existed.” Sherlock’s voice was flat, the words flowed from his lips so rhythmically it seemed like he’d practiced the words over and over. “Those were…” Sherlocks voice faded “my instructions.”  
Johns eyes darted around the room, he blinked quickly and licked his lips like he always did when in disbelief. He had to stand up and pace, pacing always helped slotting things into place. John had dealt with special people leaving from his life before (more than he liked to admit) but they always had a build up, like it was expected. Arguments, slowly loosing contact, cold shoulders the lot; all ending in the loss of a friend, family member sometimes. Sherlock had only just come into his life after what felt like an eternity of wondering when he’d finally acknowledge John’s existence. He couldn’t loose him now, he barely even had him. John stopped in his tracks and looked down at Sherlock still on the floor, he felt his eyes begin to cover in hot tears but he wouldn’t let them fall.  
The Greaser stood up slowly and looked down the corridor awkwardly, he attempted to lay a hand on John’s arm sympathetically but decided against it and slid his hand into his pocket. Sherlock was never the best at comforting people, emotions weren't his forte and John wasn’t helping.  
“Let me, let me get this straight,” none of john’s feelings would make sense, whenever this happened he would result to anger. Anger was always there he just didn't know it, so when everything was a mess in his head anger would take control. “S-so you’re just going to waltz into my life one day after months of driving me crazy, which I’m certain you knew you were doing, and then give me the best days of my life. My dreams - everything I could ever fathom happening. And then one day decide to go up and out and abandon me in this… shithole!” John waved his arms about as he spoke, dramatising his words and finished with a kick to the skirting board of the wall. Sherlock said nothing. John shook his head. Sherlock did nothing. John ran his hands through his hair and exhaled deeply through his nose. Sherlock watched. “When are you going?” John asked, defeated. He stood disappointed, it felt like Sherlock didn’t deserve his shyness towards him anymore.

_Don't know where we're going, baby_  
 _I s'pose it depends_  
 _But even if we're all far apart_  
 _We can all come back and all be fine_  
 _We'll be able to be together again_

_Be together again_  
 _Be together again_  
 _Be together again_

Sherlock spoke in silence , just showing John his phone that displayed his text messages received from a contact titled ‘Cake Scoffer’ most messages were discussing some debate over parents but the most recent was: **I’ll be expecting you outside the Newsagents at 4pm sharp, don’t think about upsetting Mummy and Daddy again, Sherlock. -MH**  
John felt his heart implode when the digital clock on sherlocks phone flashed 3:53pm. He stared at Sherlock, his eyes blown wide. The dizziness was overwhelming, for the time it’d take Sherlock to get there they only had two minutes, 120 seconds of each other…  
The look of adrenaline must’ve been screaming through John’s expression, Sherlock got the message John was unaware he was sending as he closed the space between them with one step, cupped his face in the palm of his pale hands and pressed his cold lips firmly against John’s. John gasped at the suddenness of his movements and laid his own hands either side of Sherlock’s slim face, his thumbs aligning the structure of his sharp cheekbones. The flipping feeling in his stomach drove the kiss wild, all John’s worries, thoughts, feelings and rubbish filling his head and pumping through his veins left him through the power of the kiss.  
John pushed everything he had into Sherlock, his energy slamming the taller boy up against the wall, his frustration biting on the lower lip of Sherlock, his disappointment so strong he felt their lips begin to bruise. John held his hands against Sherlock’s waist, if this was the last time he could ever have Sherlock he needed all of him, he needed the feeling of his skin. The movie playing just the other side of the wall sounded loudly making the walls vibrate as John gently lifted the hem of Sherlocks shirt above his hips just so John could lay his hands on the soft, porcelain skin of his sides. Sherlocks tongue ghosted over John’s making gentle noises escaped with their breath. Sherlock held John’s shoulders as he softened his lips to slow the kiss; transforming it from rough and needy to sentimental and emotional even.  
“John,” Sherlock gently pushed him away after dragging out the moment as long he could. Sherlock’s voice had something in it no one had heard before “Don’t do this,” he said, a tiny flood brimmed his eye lids as he glanced at the clock.  
John said nothing. He just stood. Torn, worn and drained of everything he ever had with pinkened lips and wet cheeks replacing the smile and bright eyes he had just moments ago.  
“I have to go John,” Sherlock’s voice wobbled a brief smile, making John choke on the tears he was holding. “Come?” the greaser who once stood so confident and unbreakable whispered.  
“No,” John mouthed, unable to speak “You go”  
Sherlock tapped on his phone, seconds later John’s own phone buzzed. He smiled at the shorter boy weakly “I don’t know about you John Watson,” he repeated his words before kissing the top of John’s head sweetly “And I don’t like not knowing,” Sherlock inhaled shakily, gathering himself to resume as best he could to his ice cold self before nodding a fare well and spinning on his heels to hide a tear before striding off, down, down, down the hall.

John felt the room expand, he was but a tiny, little, boy with his heart destroyed. Just like the day his Dad left. He slid down the wall into a heap on the floor. Just like the day his Dad left. He looked up to the ceiling to blink away tears. Just like the day his Dad left.

John’s fingers wrapped around his phone, his unlocked it to open the text.

**Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side -SH**

the ellipses indicating a new message flashed up

**and I’m on the losing side -SH**

new notification

**John Watson… -SH**

new notification

**I love you -SH**

John felt the tears stream down his cheeks, another, another, another

‘ **I love you** ’ he typed ‘ **-JW** ’ he pressed enter….

‘ ** _We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Your message cannot be sent._** ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr is: black-eye-friday, come say hi <3


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